Like You
by Petals Open to the Moon
Summary: Sybil knew she had power. It grew as she did, even after her mother could no longer explain it to her. Even after she was all alone in the world, searching for the one man, the one memory, she was taught not to forget...
1. Chapter 1

"_**And I'm not grieving for you **_

_**I'm coming for you." **_

_**(Evanescence)**_

* * *

The vampire gazed down the hallway suspiciously. With their cloaks being so dark, and the humid night closing in, they were literally indiscernible from their hiding position.

"How long?" he asked tersely.

His companion shifted, a mountainous bulk. "Since this morning. Sometimes she leaves, for food or water, but she always comes back."

The first figure scoffed. "And you did nothing?" he mocked. Despite the tone, his voice was soft as velvet.

"I was not ordered to proceed… I was not certain."

"Well, that's a first! Really, Felix, you surprise me."

The mountain growled. "You would have done the same, sucking up to the masters as you do."

The vampire—Demetri was his name—merely smiled, as if he had heard this accusation many times before. "Well, then," he said gaily, stepping forward. "Let's fetch our little baggage, shall we?"

The two companions made their way noiselessly down the corridor, ignoring the electric light switches on the walls. The object of their whispered discussion stood alone, a little song issuing from her mouth. She was very young—much younger than Demetri had guessed. He was not well-learned in human years.

"Well, hello, there!" he called out.

Her head snapped around, just as he'd expected. As Felix loomed into view, her dark eyes widened noticeably. This, too, was predictable.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" he continued, still in a cheerful tone.

She swallowed a little, then spoke. Her voice was very timid and sweet. "Too dark," she countered. "I like the moon better."

Demetri chuckled. "You're right," he said. "It's not a good time to be out. There may be monsters out there, looking for _young _flesh."

"What monsters?" she queried innocently.

The vampire elbowed his companion. "Well… how about _vampires?" _They both grinned at each other.

The girl shook her head. "No," she said. "I am safe here."

"And why is that, little girl?"

"Because they _can't, _that's why." She tilted her head. "But why are you asking _me? _Aren't you vampires, too?"

A stunned silence fell over the two. Felix, dumb as a huge beast, said nothing. Demetri's thin lips tightened. His eyes bounced back and forth, looking anxiously into the darkness and then to the strange creature in front of him. There was something about that gesture… the way she looked directly at them…

"That's an interesting theory," he said finally. "What else do you know about us?"

A subtle flicker lit her eyes. "Will you do something for me if I tell?"

"Yes?" he said warily.

"Bring me to your master."

This was not good. Not good at all. "Ah, so you know of _them _now?" he demanded. "What do you want with the Masters?"

"Oh, yes! I forgot there were three." She giggled, and the sound was achingly familiar. "I just want to see them. That's all."

"We do not grant childish whims," rumbled Felix. It was the first time he'd spoken, and the girl started.

"Felix is right. Our Masters do not have leisure to chat with tiresome little girls."

"I am thirteen," she interrupted. "There's no need to be rude. This is important to me."

Demetri decided to humor her. She'd be scared soon enough. "Fine," he laughed harshly. "You may come with us. But I'm warning you, the others may not be so sympathetic."

A radiant smile lit her face. "Oh, thank you!" She leaned down to pick up her bag where it lay on the cool flagstones, then came quickly to Demetri's right side.

He chuckled, noticing the pointed avoidance of his companion. "Don't get lost," he said casually.

It was pitch black in the Italian streets, but the darkness in which they descended was of an even more frightening kind. Sybil found herself shivering each time a sound echoed around them; the squeak of a rat, the ghostly rustle of the vampire's cloaks, the drip-dripping of freezing water on her cheek. It was a horrid place.

And then she saw them.

Lights. Pictures. Sculptures taller than Felix, staring down at her with cold, forbidding stares. They could have been immortals themselves, frozen in their tomb-like niches in the wall, which seemed to continue on and on for ages, never breaking for a room or door of any kind. The girl began to count the torches as they appeared, and then paintings when her eyes began to ache. _Twenty-five, twenty-six… _

Felix and Demetri took no interest in their surroundings. Demetri, especially, seemed preoccupied. His mouth was a hard line, which seemed to deepen each time he gazed at the girl.

He hadn't asked her name. He didn't care. In all probability, she would join the others, languishing in some cold little room where the smell of blood no longer served to tempt…

_Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one… _The hallway ended.

"Don't," Demetri warned, thrusting out his arm to stop the girl. She had leaped forward eagerly, as if to grasp the large, steel door handles and yank it open. An impossible feat, he thought, amused. Those arms were like sticks.

She turned to him, her cheeks stained with blood. "Are they—is it—?"

"Yes, yes. Hold on, for God's sake." He lifted a slender hand, rapping once on the fine-grained wood. He paused, appearing to listen, and then gave a silent nod to Felix. The brute shoved open the doors, gliding in and leaving the two of them alone. Demetri gazed down at his charge.

"Go in," he said shortly. _Don't do anything stupid. _

He took her bag from her, which she didn't mind, so fixated was she on seeing whatever there was to see in that room. Where other humans would be daunted, she was fearless.

Three shadowy figures sat at the furthest end of the wall, ensconced by light and pale shadow. As her light step was heard in the room, they each looked up, a domino effect.

"My lords," Demetri called out. "I have brought you something."

"Where?" breathed the tallest figure. The word was inaudible, so gentle was its tone, yet it echoed crystal clear in the girl's ears.

"Outside, at the corner of the Palazzo. Felix warned me."

"Felix's demons," laughed another figure. His voice bounced around the room. "You must not let them get to you, my dear," he continued. "Look! It is but a child."

"I think not, my lord," interjected Demetri uneasily. "She is…"

His master waited, eyebrows shooting up the pale forehead. "I hope this is not another false search, Demetri," he sighed, after a moment. "I _do _grow weary of them."

Demetri paled.

The girl, who had been silent, now burst into a flood of words. "Oh, you mustn't blame him!" he trilled anxiously. "I saw… I know…" She blushed, conscious of the ancients' stare. "You mustn't blame him," she repeated.

The smiling vampire leaned forward, moved by this odd little speech. "Your name, little one?" he asked.

"Sybil."

"Sybil, dear, are you conscious of the intrusion you have made or no?"

"Oh, it wasn't an intrusion!" she interrupted. "At least, I didn't _mean _to. But how else was I to see you?"

"You could write," rasped the third ancient, faintly sarcastic.

His companion chuckled. "Caius, you are humorous today. Oh, I _am _sorry!" he said suddenly, glancing at Sybil. "We haven't been properly introduced. Sybil, my brothers Caius," he nodded at the quiet figure. "And Marcus."

She scarcely noticed them. "And _you're_ Aro?" she questioned eagerly.

The eyebrows rose again. "I see Demetri has not been remiss."

The guard frowned heavily, concealed at the back of the room. This was not the case, but it wasn't worthwhile answering. The girl was unnerving him more by the minute.

"Tell me more, little one," Aro was saying softly. His fascination was counter to his guard's displeasure.

Sybil did not appear to hear him. Her eyes roved over the night-clad figure, devouring slowly what her weak vision had to offer. The ancient shifted, the smile becoming rather fixed. His posture indicated discomfort. He had no scruples in studying one's face, drawing out their soul with steady, red gaze, but he had no intention of being subject himself to such deep study.

"Well?" he asked—a little testily. "Have you nothing to say, child?"

Her smile, unlike his, was genuine. "I was hoping _you _did," she said sweetly. "And I was thinking… Is there not something you wish me to do?"

Aro frowned, bemused by the strange request. Then he saw her hand, lifting from her side, and his own face lifted. "Ah…" He rose, gesturing her to come forward.

Demetri coughed. "My lord…"

Aro spoke without looking up. "What now?"

"If I may be so bold—"

"You may not," responded his master. "I confess, Demetri, that I am concerned at your hostility towards this girl. Surely it does not stem from jealousy of attention?"

Demetri stepped back in his corner. "Forgive me, Master."

"Don't sulk, my friend. We must make allowances for the occasional novelty in our domain. All is not as it seems. May I, little one?"

This directed at Sybil, who stood below the ancient, gazing up into that paradoxical face. Once more, her reactions served to perplex. She nodded quickly, reaching out a small, blue-veined hand. His hand closed about hers, snow on peach flesh. None noticed Marcus, gazing at the girl in mute astonishment.

Before Aro could move, before the final revealing thread could weave itself into his brain, the pink lips opened once more.

"Beautiful!" she whispered. "I didn't know… oh, but wait a minute…" Her forehead puckered, as if trying to remember something. She smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, but it _has _been a long time since I tried!"

Aro said nothing. He merely watched her, as every held breath in the room was watching her. A tear fell from her eyes. "So it's true…" she whispered. She gazed up at him. "She said not to forget. I never did. You're _just_ like she told me."

A few seconds passed, as the girl wept silently. Tension shuddered. It was as if some unseen force were winding up a clock, tight as a fist, before letting the machinery shatter in one final devastating act. Several things happened at once. Marcus stiffened in his chair, while Caius observed all with the impatience of the oblivious. Demetri took two anxious steps closer, followed by Felix.

"Get away," her master snapped. His voice was hoarse. "Get away, all of you!"

All movement in the room froze. Only the girl was heard breathing. Aro felt the grasp of the delicate fingers, the smooth nails with purple finish, and stared down in appalled astonishment at the guileless face.

"Hello, Father," she whispered.

* * *

_**Beyond excited for this... I am dying to hear your thoughts! ~ Petals **_


	2. Chapter 2

"_**I can't feel my senses **_

_**I just feel the cold." **_

_**(Within Temptation) **_

Sybil waited, the beat of her heart ticking loudly in her ears. Sweat from the heat outside still dewed on her forehead. Yet for all that, she felt strangely calm. She had made her way to Italy, practically fought through a horde of suspicious immortals, and now… he was here. He was standing before her, not a spirit, yet unlike any human she had ever seen.

_You were right, Mother, _she thought joyously. _I didn't believe you, but oh, you were _right!

She gazed up again, eagerly devouring his dark eyes. They were the color of her birthstone, the ruby. She had one on her finger. Her mother had purchased it at a secondhand jeweler's when she was nine, almost six years ago now.

"It's not real, Sybil," she remembered her apologizing. "Maybe when you're a big girl I can buy you one."

Sybil refused to believe it was imitation. It was so beautiful! It had taken three years to accept the fact, when the cheap "jewel" broke off in a scuffle with the neighborhood children. Pat, the pawnshop owner, had managed to fix it for her. The jewel had lost all validity, but that didn't lessen the sentimental value she attached to it.

_If those eyes were rubies… _she thought fantastically. He had such a pretty face! She had known girls with attractive fathers, but they had always been loud and rude, stumbling out of strange houses with puffy eyes and slack lips. Now _her _father… her father could be a fairy prince. Her lips spread a little wider at this thought.

It was then she realized there was something terribly wrong.

Her father—or might he prefer _Aro?—_was looking very strange. Was he sick? Vampires didn't get sick, did they? Worried, Sybil pressed his hand again.

"Are you alright, Father?" she asked.

She could hear him breathing now. His chest rose and fell with a labored movement that frightened her. She understood now. She had shocked him. After all, he hadn't known she was coming. How cruel of her to spring it on him this way!

Sybil stepped closer, sweetly ignorant. "This is all my fault," she went on. "I should've known better, I'm sorry. Can you forgive me? But I thought you would hear—you _do _hear everyone's thoughts, don't you? I do, too, you see, so I thought I would just show you… You're not angry at me, are you? Mother said you might be."

The ensuing silence was deafening. _Mother said you might be. _The words rang out over and over. Aro laid a hand on his breast, as if to rip them out like a poisonous dart. His skin was an ashen pale now, and he could not bear this little child anymore… could not look at her…

"Felix," he whispered. It was barely audible. "Felix, please…"

Sybil would have reached him, even laid an anxious head on his arm, but suddenly she found herself being drawn back inexorably. She gasped in surprise, and then indignation.

"Let me go!" she demanded. "What are you doing? Let me go!"

Immortals can be terribly deaf when they want to. None of the eyes, however resentful, met hers now. Even the sour-faced angel followed suit, contenting himself to glowering at the intricate stonework beneath him. Even worse—and the child's lips trembled—even worse was the noted absence of the _one_ person she had prayed not to offend…

"Father?" she cried, growing more panicked. The giant was pinching her awfully; her little body was not accustomed to such rude treatment. Calling out the name hadn't helped her situation. The white angel glowered at _her _now, and her insides quavered at such hate.

Felix picked her up, finally, tired of dragging his charge. She huddled like a wounded animal against his chest. He heard her sobbing.

"Come now," he said harshly. "None of that. Geez…" Why _Demetri _couldn't take the creature, he'd never know. It was always "Felix, do this" or "Felix, fetch that." Never a worthwhile calling. Sometimes he had the pleasure of assisting Master Aro in his more _gruesome _tasks, but how many days had it been since one of those?

If Felix had heard the human axiom, "all brawn, no brain," he might have nodded his head in grim understanding. His name was derived from a word meaning "luck," but did he get any? _No. _

_Get the guy with muscles, _he thought, gliding furiously down the corridor. _He won't mess up anything… _if_ you keep a close watch! _

But vampires are invariably selfish beings. He saw only his own wishes. Felix was well-known for his temper, which had all the passion of one of the ancients, but none of their self-control. He had to be checked into obedience by Aro, who kept a close eye on all his followers' doings. Felix did not resent this, but in his raw ignorance chose to blame his misfortunes on everyone else.

Today it was Demetri… and the girl.

"Will you _shut up?" _he exclaimed. The sniffling sounds were driving him mad. "Honestly, why would _anyone _want to be _your _parent? Even if this dumb rigmarole of yours is true."

"I'm sorry," she peeped softly.

Felix whistled 'round a corner, the stone blocks barely missing Sybil's head. He fumbled at a seemingly inanimate wall of stone, grumbling to himself all the while. "I don't know where else to put you… Demetri and his games… what kind of a halfwit circus monkey do they take me for…?"

Sybil, who had been dropped unceremoniously, gaped as the huge wall creaked forward. "How did you do that?" she asked.

His hand seized her arm. "The same way I'll do _this." _

Sybil screamed as she was flung part way across the room, spinning like a rag doll. Her hands and arms saved her. She spread them out quickly, preventing her head from smashing into the wall. She flinched back, clutching her wrist.

"Oh…" she moaned. Little diamonds flecked her eyes. Felix would have grumbled again, had he seen them, but the door closed. He hadn't waited to see the girl fall.

Sybil looked around her, whimpering. She was in a cell. It was a very small one. If her arms were a little longer, she could reach out on either side and touch both walls. Such a situation might have made _any _of us claustrophobic, but poor Sybil couldn't even spell the word. She was thinking of one thing, and one thing only.

"I guess I messed up," she mumbled. Her hazel eyes stared at the ceiling. It leaked, and there was brown mold smeared across the cracks. "Did I, Mother?"

_Of _course _you did, _she thought to herself. _Had _she_ been there, things would have been different. They would have talked it out, like grownups do, then we could have gone home together, and Mother would start smiling again, and he wouldn't have that awful look on his face— _

The girl curled up, burying her head behind her knees. _It's not fair._

The room shivered, dropping shards of water to the floor, where they disappeared almost instantly. Silent, curled up in her corner, Sybil watched her arms turn purple with cold…


	3. Chapter 3

"_**Vision or nightmare it may have been—vision **_

_**or nightmare I fervently hope it was."**_

_**(H.P. Lovecraft) **_

Demetri drifted down the hallway, his features dark. Once he stopped before a door, listened carefully, then glided onward and out of sight. Other wraiths came and went, some even taking the form of children in the hellish blackness. Each glanced at the door, echoing Demetri's own action.

Since the astonishing incident in the throne room, no one had dared approach Aro, nor seek out his advice on matters of importance. Despite the beauty and freedom of these immortals, there existed a hierarchy not unlike that of the French upper and lower classes in the eighteenth century. Demetri, Felix, the other children of darkness—they were all inferior. The Masters floated above them, caught in their own damned twilight, while their every expression and word was obeyed to the letter. Such weak tendencies as compassion were not encouraged, as they were sure to override the distance between master and servant. What pain an immortal felt, what misery he encountered, he encountered alone.

It was not to be doubted, however, that the case was singular. How many, after all, came leaping into the Master's lap, claiming a blood relation hitherto unheard of? Not many _children, _certainly. There had been odd mishaps in the past, mostly involving false tales of hybrid fledglings and other such nonsense. The Volturi guard—so called after their beloved city, Volterra—gossiped amongst themselves, their whispers falling shamelessly from flawless red mouths.

"It is not possible," murmured Heidi, a tall female with the grace of a vain swan. A "woman of the streets" in her human days, she had not risen much higher among her new masters. She was, at best, a scathing companion. "I am surprised Aro chose to keep her," she continued. "You _saw _the look on his face…"

Demetri spoke. "And I, for one, fail to see how it's _any_ of your business?"

"Or yours," chuckled Felix behind him. "You're so worried about the Master's favor, Demi. Perfectly selfish, as always. Don't you think Heidi and I should be the ones watching our backs? Why should _you _be afraid?"

Demetri opened his mouth angrily, but the other guard cut in. "You know _damn_ well you are!" he exclaimed. "Since when does Aro dispose of his precious little talents? _We,_ on the other hand, have _nothing." _

"Nothing," echoed Heidi mockingly.

The giant rose, giving Demetri a mock bow. "Shall we build a statue to you, do you think? Set it up beside Aro's? Statues don't complain, you know. They keep their traps shut, no matter _what _little interloper comes along."

"Shut up, you," Demetri snarled.

"All hail His Grace," chanted Felix. Heidi tittered beside him, her beautiful teeth flashing. They seemed heedless to Demetri's rising fury. He rushed towards the door, pale with rage, and collided with something far below his shoulders.

"In a hurry?" remarked a voice.

"Forgive me, Jane," he whispered. "I did not see you."

"What foresight," said the girl. "Next time it happens, you may be sure I will make you notice me." She had an unpleasant, whiny voice, much like that of an impending tantrum, only she spoke with all the unnerving calm of a practiced adult. A boy followed her, much the same in physical appearance. His greeting to Demetri was far more polite, however, with a soft, musical quality that his twin sister lacked. His name was Alec.

"What is going on?" Jane asked, already bored.

Felix elbowed Demetri. "His _Grace _was—"

Demetri punched him back—hard—in the ribs. "We were discussing Aro's newfound relation," he replied, matter-of-factly.

The subject was ill chosen. Jane's lips puckered. "Indeed," was all she said.

Alec smiled at his sister, then turned back to Demetri. "I am interested," he said softly. "Has the Master appeared or said anything yet?"

"No. No sign of the girl, either."

Heidi's voice floated from the chair, like a lazy breeze of perfume. "I wish I had been there. It was quite a spectacle, Demi says."

Alec's voice dropped. "Did she _truly_ read his mind?"

"Well, that's what's so bloody difficult to make out," Felix grumbled. "Imagine how Master Caius feels, day in and day out."

"Or Marcus," added Heidi.

There was an awkward silence. No one mentioned the First Master, called thus for his legendary role in the history of their city. It was a well-known taboo; an order they had never been given, nor needed. He was the ghost of the coven… a spirit none dared awaken.

Demetri broke the silence with a sharp sigh. "Relation or not, I think we can _all_ agree on the young creature's fate."

The immortals all turned to him. He relished the attention for a moment, then slipped past Jane (carefully) to the door. His face twisted in mock empathy before leaving. "Have you _ever_ known the Master to share power…?"

* * *

The Master himself sat alone, about ten doors away, watching the lazy track of a fly across a cut-glass window. The light was artificial, as was most light in the quaint dungeon his Coven called home. His eyes roved over the precious gems on the side, set to match the varied yellows, emerald, and lilacs of the glass. At last, unable to stand it, he rose, catching the miserable insect between two vise-like fingers. It crumpled to the floor at the same time he sank back into his chair.

_Mother said you might be. _

Aro resisted the impulse to cover his ears. What good would it do him? He had already been poisoned. The moment he felt that probing force within him, and felt a surge of shock and horror indefinable to humans. Hate had stung him, as well, but whether for himself, the girl, or the girl's mother, he could not say. He dared not even _think _about the latter…

He could kill her. That was always an option. He was no stranger to murders and intrigues; had had his full share of them in the past. He wouldn't even have to watch, if his conscience still pinched him. He could place her in Heidi's hands, sending her at the back of the group, and then casually leave the room before Sybil could see him.

_Sybil. _The name festered inside him like a wound. How _dare _Marina name her thus? Scarcely anyone used such names anymore. They had faded away silently, tarnished and frail like the beauty of the past. Who was she to dig it up…?

_Sybil. _Future-reader. The seer. Greek, like his native heritage, and charged with meaning.

_I could kill her, _he thought again, almost feverishly. He rose from his chair, pacing in a half-circle about the room. Such an act would destroy everything, even Marina. He would obliterate these ghosts from his past, even as he had obliterated the hateful influence of the Romanians centuries ago. And who was to stop him, judge him? Caius would agree, certainly, and the rest of the Coven shared the general scorn of humans amongst immortals.

The door opened soundlessly. Aro lashed around, his hand outstretched, then drew back just as suddenly. "Caius," he said, relieved.

His brother closed the door. Pale hair cascaded down his shoulders, gleaming in startling contrast against his deep, crimson robes. "Aro," he began.

"She will not," his brother interrupted. "I have made my decision."

Caius frowned. "That is _very _annoying, you know. Are you sure you haven't extended your powers beyond touch?"

"I'm going to kill her," Aro whispered.

Caius gazed at him for a moment, then a smile broke his face. "Really?"

"Do you agree with me?"

"I'm merely surprised it took you so long."

Aro sighed. "Then I shall proceed at once. Tomorrow, Sybil will no longer have a _'father.'"_

Caius watched him through pale lashes. After a millennia, he missed nothing. "You doubt your resolution."

Black robes swirled about Aro's feet, hurrying to catch up as he began pacing again. "I feel… lost," he admitted. "She _makes _me feel lost and I—I _hate _it!" He stopped, gazing up with pained expression. "Caius… suppose she truly _is _my daughter?"

Caius rolled his eyes. "That is only for you to decipher. Why does it matter, anyway?"

"Because—because then she is my blood relation, and I cannot…" Now a whisper. "You know I cannot do that again."

The two vampires stood in silence. They knew of what he spoke, but the pain of it was still so raw, so regretful, they could not find words. Only then did Caius' smile fade, and his pale hands twisted together. "I don't know what to say to you, Aro," he murmured. "I would suggest never seeing the girl again, to strengthen your resolve, but it is your own choice."

"But did you hear me?" his brother persisted.

"I thought you were going to kill her, Aro. If it distresses you so, you may depend on the rest of us." He turned away coldly, opening the door. "What _did _you have planned otherwise?"

* * *

_**Eager to hear your thoughts, my loves. I honestly don't know how anyone couldn't be a fan of this bunch. They are so much fun to right... and the characteristics are so varying! Stephenie is not a classical author (which I prefer), but I must give her credit for inventing these wonderful creatures. :) **_

**_Waiting for you! _**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Yes, this is short. But there will be more soon. :) In the meantime, I do wish to hear from you! _**

* * *

"_**The show is not the show, **_

_**But they that go. **_

_**Menagerie to me **_

_**My neighbor be. **_

_**Fair play—**_

_**Both went to see…" **_

_**(Emily Dickinson) **_

"He said what?"

Demetri sighed. "I came to fetch you. My Master desires your presence. That is all."

The girl uncurled her legs slowly. He saw the deep impressions the stones had made on her skin, even bruising it in some places. He was not an empathetic being, but surely a _cot _wouldn't be too much to ask?

_Then again, _he reassured himself. _It's a one-night stay. _"Get your things," he said harshly.

"I can't. You took my bag."

Had he? He didn't remember. "Well never mind that," he urged. "I'm in the Master's bad books already, thanks to you. Hurry up, now."

She came willingly, eager to leave the cell. "I _am _sorry," she panted, trying to keep up. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

"Never mind," he interrupted. Children annoyed him considerably. They were so unpredictable, so easily hurt—much more than the average, troublesome human.

"Well, here we are," he said, flinging open the doors. _Yet again. _

The girl seemed eager enough (though less than before). As she crossed the threshold, her sneaker caught in a stone fissure, causing her to pitch forward slightly. She flailed out, grasping Demetri by the hem of his sleeve.

"_Fuga!" _he hissed. He wrenched away, leaving her stunned where she fell. She whimpered a little. He leaned very close, locking her eyes with his. "Don't. Touch. Me. Understand?"

"Y-Yes."

He rose, gliding within sight of the Masters. His nostrils flared with repressed anger. Was it not humiliating—_degrading—_enough for his thoughts to be drawn and quartered without this witch also taking his measure? Sure, she may have just been steadying herself, but to hell with excuses. Aro used them on a daily basis. They were all used to his lies.

_I will _not _be manipulated by a child. _The thought hammered into his brain. Oh, how he hated her at that moment! Thank God she would not have long to live in this world.

"My lords," he said, nodding to the trio standing in the center of the room. The light surrounded them, making a shimmering halo about their heads. Their faces, however, were anything but divine. Caius stood with his head thrust sharply to one side, a common gesture when the fires of anger were stirring in his bosom. Marcus' was a face worth eliminating altogether. His sadness dissolved into Aro's face, whose joviality seemed a trifle forced. He did not acknowledge Sybil's presence in the room.

"I'm starved!" he laughed, turning easily from Caius' protests. "Where _can _Heidi be?"

"Shall I fetch her, my lord?" Demetri offered. He was anxious to retrieve the ancient's favor.

"No, no. That is not necessary."

Felix had entered the room, accompanied by eight or so immortals of various size and appearance. Two of them were the twins, Jane and Alec. They made their way to Aro's side, their faces like two marble cherubs. The rest dispersed to different sections of the large room. Most chose the shadows, huddling their gray cloaks protectively around them. Their eyes stared hungrily at the heavy back doors, as if seeing through it to some fantastic feast beyond. It was nearly twelve in the afternoon.

Shivering and ignored, Sybil watched the ethereal procession. Oddly enough, it was not fear she felt but fascination. She dared not ask Demetri anything, oh, no, but one could _look, _couldn't they? She played a little game with herself, imagining how they were related, and who was perhaps mated to whom. She spied two sandy-haired beauties, their faces of the same hardy complexion, and assumed them brother and sister. The next moment, however, proved wrong. The male turned to his companion, planting a butterfly kiss on her lovely cheek. They melded closer together, making their way about the room.

"_Don't, _Afton," the female snapped, but her eyes laughed.

A similar smile tugged at Sybil's lips. She was watching closely, trying to think up names for Afton's mate, when a familiar voice jerked her to attention.

"Settle down, my dears!" Aro glanced at the doors, then back at the gathered assembly. "No need to rush for it all at once."

"Considering there's nothing to rush _to," _blurted an impatient Caius.

"Hush," soothed his brother. "I hear her steps now."

A queer feeling prickled at Sybil's neck. She turned, almost feeling afraid, and met a pair of eyes large and dark as amber. The beautiful vampire smiled at her, blowing an invisible kiss. Her eyes looked a question: _who are you? _

_Sybil, _the girl mouthed back. _And you? _

The red lips moved, but Sybil could not discern any answer. She peered closer, squinting, when the lovely creature suddenly looked away, pretending not to have seen her at all. Sybil frowned. She followed the vampire's gaze, and her breath caught a little.

Her father was watching her.

She had not time to reflect, for the moment had disappeared. He spoke to a tall vampire, laughing. Sybil heard the door opening, but she didn't take her eyes away, so desperate was she to capture his attention once more. But Time was moving swiftly now, and with it an approaching event which would haunt her dreams for many nights to come.

"Heidi!" Aro's voice rang sweetly.

Sybil watched the woman enter, and her brow puckered in distaste. A word entered her mind, something Mother would have called her, but she couldn't bear to speak it. It simply hung there, growing uglier and more hateful by the minute.

_I don't like her. I don't like her at all. _

Heidi paused, letting the sheen of sunlight catch on her new boots. The heels were bright red. Vulgar, like all her clothing. Auburn tresses blew back from her face, and she smiled. "I am not late, am I?" she asked. She eagerly took the hand Aro offered her.

"Of course not, _my sweet," _he replied. His eyes faded off, veiled in thought, until he abruptly met her gaze again. "I see… so unfortunate. Did you see to it she found suitable care?"

"Yes. I thought you would appreciate my taking the child to the _ospedale _myself. It seemed to… _endear _them even more to me." She grinned.

Aro kissed her blushing lips. "Well done, _preciosa, _well done." He gazed past her. "Ah!"

Sybil, who had followed these proceedings with bewildered interest, turned with the rest of the dark-clad figures to the group in the doorway.

"Come in!" one of the vampires called. His voice was hoarse behind the smile. "Come in, why don't you?"

A low murmuring ran through the new assembly. There was no specific age group. Fathers, brothers, grandparents, children—all were assembled, to whatever strange and dark purpose. They didn't see it, the invisible curve of crimson that ran over the floor, puddling in the grate, and gathering in gruesome darkness in the silence beneath. It streamed from the vampire's eyes; ran from their slack, drooling mouths in unseen abundance until the room heaved with silent lust.

The innocent cannot see such things. Sybil was blind.

"Why don't you?" the vampire said. It was the sandy-haired one.

Caius had risen. She saw him out of the corner of her eye. White and frightening, he was the final thrust. Terror split from inside her, and she cried out.

"Oh, don't!" she sobbed, covering her eyes. "Father, _don't!"_

The tourists caught on to her fear. Who was this child? Why was she crying, and what were those hideous bruises on her arms and legs? They begin to move about, demanding unintelligible things of their captors. Several banged on the locked doors. A furious snarl emitted from Caius. Sybil saw him coming towards her, white hands outstretched. She ran, lunging like a trapped animal for the exit.

"Come back here!" he shouted. Chaos swirled around him. She heard someone screaming, but dared not turn. Everyone was moving at once, shouting at once…

The door was so close. She felt the handle at her fingertips, but the vampire caught her blouse, wrenching her back with unnecessary violence. Her head snapped back, colliding with a chest of stone.

_Mother, _she thought dimly, before tasting blackness.


	5. Chapter 5

"_**I try to put on a face **_

_**And cover my heart **_

_**But I'm needing it now." **_

_**(Lesley Roy) **_

Caius glanced down at the limp form in his arms, then up at Aro's still face. "Ha!" he shouted. His lips sought the little throat eagerly. The beat had slowed, due to unconsciousness, but it was a welcome beginning for his gruesome meal.

"Caius," said Aro quietly.

His brother looked up from the body. It was incredible they could hear one another at all, with all the chaos and horrific activity in the room. Caius shoved aside a confused tourist, glaring up at his brother. "What _now?" _

"You will not be the one to kill her," Aro replied, very softly.

"You don't say? Well, _damn _you and your sentiment! I am thirsty."

He bent again, teeth dripping with poison. The girl was wrenched from his grasp, spinning like a marionette into one of the guard's arms. Caius turned to Aro in fury. "How _dare_ you?"

Aro was firm. "You will not kill her, brother, but there are some fine specimens here you might enjoy…" He looked down at Jane, who was cradling a young boy in her arms. The child was about eight-years-old. Aro pushed her away, lifting the prize for his brother's inspection. _"Perfetto." _

"You _always _did as you pleased," Caius snarled. "But I seriously doubt your presence of mind, brother! I thought you made your purpose very clear."

"Not to you, apparently. Will you take him or not?"

Caius' eyes narrowed to red slivers. He snatched the boy, now moaning softly, from Aro's arms, and turned away. Aro smiled. Such childishness. One needn't turn the Volturi into a mental institution by bickering all the time. He turned to Demetri, who still held Sybil.

"Have you fed?" his master asked softly.

"Yes, my lord."

"Then take the little one back to her chambers. She may have her things returned to her, but nothing else. Understand?"

"_Si." _

"Then go."

The doors closed behind the guard. Aro sighed, gazing about him at the familiar slaughter. The grate was doing its job well, but there was always the tiresome job to be completed afterwards. Heidi had brought more than usual today.

A small shadow crept close to the ancient. He looked down, smiling, at the white hand which hovered on his arm. "Yes, sweetling?"

"You drank nothing, Master," it whispered.

"I had not the spirit for it, child."

"You know abstinence is not wise for you."

"Am I to be berated by my own guard?" Aro chuckled, then sobered at the sight of the anxious face. He traced a gentle line down her cheek. "Do not fret for me, Renata."

"Is it true, my lord?" she asked.

"Is what true?"

"Is that girl your daughter?"

It was the wrong question. Aro bent, kissing the tiny vampire's forehead. His face was still and closed, as when he had stopped Caius before. "Leave me," he told her.

Renata drew the grey folds of her cloak about her. If she was offended, she did not show it. Her answering smile was forced, however, as she made her way back down the steps. The bodies trailed slowly from the room; some carried, others on wheeled carts intended specifically for the purpose. A fair arm hung from one of the carts. Morbidly curious, Aro came closer. It was that of the boy he had stolen from Jane, and whom his brother had obviously ravaged.

_The blood must have pleased, _he thought, amused at the sight of the torn shirt. He closed the bluish eyelids, then gestured for Felix to proceed with his burden. He was thoughtful, heading back to his throne with measured step. Once settled, he pressed his hands together, leaning his chin upon them in careful thought.

He had made a mistake. That was definite. It was only providential that he had rallied in time, calling out to Caius to leave the girl. Sybil was safe, and his plans built eagerly upon the mended error.

_I was taken unawares, that is all. I was not thinking clearly. _However she had unnerved him, he was very much interested in her survival at present. There was so much yet to learn of the girl; he had lost a considerable amount of memories in that first shock. He knew only that Marina was no longer living, and that Sybil had spent the last six years in an orphanage and then later in a foster home. Had her time in either place been pleasant? What did Marina die of? Had she—and Aro's knuckles went white—had she born _others? _How had she undertaken her child's education?

All this would be answered in time, provided he was patient and humored the girl. He had reasserted his self-control. He would not fail again. He need only ensure her survival, and the knowledge would flow like water into his waiting hands…

_Survival, _he thought, tapping his fingers. _Not comfort. _There was a difference.

* * *

Back in her "chambers," Sybil was only just waking. There was a sharp pull at the back of her head, as if someone had tied a string there and was yanking at her skull. It hurt.

"Hello?" she whispered. _Am I alone again? _

A stupid question. Only the walls stared at her, eyeless, as always.

She stretched her legs. Her foot knocked against something. She grabbed her bag hastily, clutching it to her thin little chest. It was a euphoric feeling, having something to call your own in a world so familiar. She dug through the contents, then sighed with relief to find everything in place. Vampires weren't concerned with worldly possessions, then.

Sybil frowned. What _did _they want? What did her father want… or was he not in charge anymore? She shuddered at the thought of being dominated by… Charles? Carl? She couldn't remember the horrible demon's name. It was a sweetly sad paradox, the child loving her father as she did, yet flinching in terror from creatures of the exact same temperament as he. And she _did _love him. She was hurt, yes, but her heart still wanted to stay. Some blessings were less easily gained than others. She'd had trials. Maybe this was yet another.

An hour passed, and then another. Stiff with boredom, the young girl began sorting through the already sorted bag. It was navy-blue, with a small daisy sewn on the large, outside pocket. Her mother had done that for her, after giving her the bag itself in third grade. It mirrored the design on her mini skirt, also made by her mother. Sybil touched the flower reverently. Something crackled under her fingertips.

"Hm," she said aloud, pushing harder. Again, the same crackling. Had she packed a school notebook by mistake? It didn't seem likely. School had been out for two months… Sybil reached down, and pulled out a small, somewhat insignificant piece of typing paper.

_Sybil, _it read.

The little girl gasped, raising her eyes for a moment. Was it… could it be from…? She held the paper closer. She knew it was day, for cracks of light squeezed through the door (again, it seemed only a wall of stone, but that was the direction from which that huge vampire had first flung her). Sybil nestled closer to this area, squinting terribly. At last, some of the words began to faintly appear. It was just a plain piece of typing paper, and the ink was thick and black.

_Sybil, _

_I saw you. You did not understand me, no? That is alright. I saw you wear a daisy-patterned skirt. You like the flower? I have pressed some for you. You are a sweet one, very brave. We shall meet soon, do not worry. You have a beautiful smile. _

It's not him, was Sybil's first, crushing thought. Then a small seed of excitement rose inside her. She glanced up, as if expecting the sender of the letter to materialize through the wall. A drop of moldy water splashed on her cheek. She scooted to a drier corner, and then examined the letter once more. A blot of ink was below the last line. Had the sender wanted to sign with a name, then just as quickly decided against it? Or had they been in a hurry, anxious to conceal its being found out? The Volturi—yes, she remembered their name—did not seem the type to encourage missives, particularly amongst prisoners.

"And I must be a prisoner," she said to herself. "I'm in a cell, without food or drink."

She huddled closer to the cold stone. A mouse stirred in a hole near her, but she was not frightened. She gazed down into the inquisitive, black eyes. "I guess _you _don't get much company either, hm?"

The whiskers twitched.

"I know how it feels. I'm from an orphanage, you see, and it can be hard. Maybe you're an orphan, too. Maybe your mother tossed you out from the rest, being short of crumbs. You weren't strong enough, were you? You were the smallest."

The mouse emitted a squeak, jerking its head in something like a nod.

Sybil laughed, rocking back on her heels. "Oh, you funny mousy!" The sound quickly died, however. Her breath blew out in frosty gasps. "I'm cold," she said, watching him nibble an invisible object. "Are you cold, too, mousy?" On receiving no acknowledgment, she sighed. "Could I have done something different, do you suppose?" she queried. "Maybe if I'd written, or let him know _somehow _that I was coming. Grownups don't like surprises. I know vampires aren't human, but they're _pretty _much the same, right?"

She looked down at the empty hole. Her gaze fell on her right sneaker, fastening on a weird, dark stain. Of course, she knew what it was. It was just better to pretend she didn't. Like a game of peek-a-boo with a baby. She used to play with them a lot at the orphanage. Babies don't judge, after all, nor speak unkindly. You'd pretend you couldn't see the baby, her fat little face, and then your hands would _pop_ open—

Sybil covered her face, stifling a sob. _It's blood, you stupid girl. All over… all over everything… _A surprising anger filled her. It was not an emotion Sybil knew well. Sweet and generally optimistic, she had gazed quietly at children throwing tantrums, seldom giving in to the misdeed herself. But everyone is pushed to an extreme. She had seen—and sadly understood—a sight that would drive most people mad. She lashed out with little fists, striking the hateful cold that surrounded her. The little mouse, no doubt returning for more conversation, skittered away in fright. Sybil saw it leave, and began to cry again. She curled up on the floor, sucking on her bloody knuckles.

He didn't want her. She was sure of that now. If he had, why hadn't he said anything, or saved her, even? Why had he let the _other _one come after her, like a ghost out of hell, and mistreat her in such a way? She remembered nothing after he'd snatched her blouse. She was afraid of remembering.

Feeling unwanted is one thing. She was used to _that. _But feeling thus after so many years of hope, after building all those worthless castles in the sky, was the worst of all.

"I'm better off dead," she mumbled, curling up tighter still.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Here you are, my dears! Sorry for the wait. **_

* * *

"…_**It is a medium, a tangible help, in conveying **_

_**memories of sympathy and comfort…"**_

_**(Bram Stoker) **_

Whatever Aro's intentions, it was three long days before anyone came to visit Sybil. This did not include the imaginary hands that fed her, darting fast and white into the dungeon walls before she could see them. The fare was decent, but she ate with little relish. Her mind was on fire. After that last, bitter night, she had risen with fresh hope, determined to set everything to rights between her and her father.

The question was, where to begin?

A quiet knock on the third evening answered that for her. She was curled up in her corner, feeding some spare crumbs to her little, furry friend.

"Yes?" the girl whispered.

Something creaked, and a voice floated over to her. "Close your eyes, _mi pequeño."_

Sybil stared at the wall. Had she just been addressed in a different language? The words had all rolled together, like a thrush's sweet trill. She frowned a little. "Um… what?"

"Close your _eyes!" _

The voice was not forceful; merely amused. Sybil obeyed. The next moment she jumped, for something warm and soft had landed on her lap. She gazed down into the surprised, beady eyes of a bird. A daisy petal was stuck to his wing. She brushed it off, only to find they were everywhere; pressed petals that exuded a faint, but pleasant aroma. Sybil lifted her head, and met a pair of familiar, dark eyes.

"You like?" the vision asked, smiling.

"Y-yes, of course. I saw you in the… in the…"

The vampire interjected quickly, noting Sybil's distress. Her cool fingers grasped the girl's hand. "My name is _Alessandra. _I don't think you caught it. It is—how do you say?—quite a _mouthful. _Unlike your name, no? So sweet and simple."

Sybil smiled, enchanted. She saw Alessandra's eyes drop, focusing intently on their hands. She pulled hers away. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I sometimes forget."

The vampire shrugged. "It is nothing. How old are you, Sybil?"

"Thirteen. My birthday's in two months."

Alessandra smiled. "Almost a young lady! Your parents must be proud."

"I have none," Sybil faltered. "Well, at least my _mother _is—"

Alessandra frowned. "I've done nothing but unnerve you, haven't I? Come, come. Sit down." They curled up in the corner together. The golden bird hopped about in Sybil's lap, making chirrup noises.

"She's adorable," the girl murmured. "What kind of bird is she?"

"He, _novio. _He is a finch. I bought him in the palazzo this morning, before the sun rose."

"The owner was up that early?"

Alessandra laughed. _"No, no… _I woke him. He not happy, of course, but I paid well for the little darling." She stroked the small, golden throat. "What name will you give?"

Sybil hid a smile. The vampire was a little hard to understand, so innocent was her English. Her accent was beautiful, though. Like a song. "I'm not good at names," she admitted. "Why don't you pick one?"

"Something short, sweet?"

"Yes."

Alessandra kissed the bird's head. "Pico, _que son adorables." _

Sybil giggled. "Spanish for 'beak'? Very clever."

Alessandra glanced down at their hands, which had again brushed together. "You know Spanish?" she asked cautiously.

"No, but I hea—" Sybil's lips closed abruptly.

Alessandra sat back on her heels, the soft gray of her skirt flowing 'round her. "It is true, then," she whispered. She added something else in Spanish, but Sybil couldn't understand.

"I'm sorry, Alys—Alessandra. I _really _don't mean it."

The vampire came forward, her smile warming again. "Oh, of _course _you don't. I understand. Tell me, though…" To Sybil's surprise, she reached out, again taking her hand. "What do you see now? I love to hear."

The words bore a strange likeness to Aro's. Sybil fidgeted, slightly uncomfortable, but soon the press of memories was too much to ignore. She closed her eyes, and the images rose before her.

"I see… a man." She hesitated. "No… a _vampire,_ actually. He is very handsome. Tall and dark. He has his arm around—"

She stopped again, opening her eyes. Alessandra's smile was beatific. "Go on," she said, her accent thickening.

Sybil did so, lengthening her descriptions as she gained confidence. A fairytale evolved, surrounded by rolling country and hills not unlike the Italian landscape. A fluid language swirled behind her eyes, and she was ecstatic when she could grasp the meaning. Alessandra appeared in the vision, followed by the man as they played a game of lover's tag. She spun 'round, catching him eventually, and Sybil heard his name. Loving words gushed from their lips. Time passed, the crest of the guard formulated, yet their eyes were still drawn to the other's face…

The perfect romance.

Sybil faded dizzily back to the present. "Santiago?" she asked breathlessly.

Alessandra nodded, eyes sparkling. If she'd been human, Sybil was sure she would have blushed.

"I don't think I've met him."

"You haven't, sweet one. He has been away this past week, tending to the Master's business. He returns tomorrow."

"Can I meet him?"

"Of course!"

Alessandra rose, her long limbs unfolding gracefully. Sybil secretly wished she could play with her hair. It was so long; it cascaded past her waist in shades the color of a chocolate shop. Alessandra turned, smiling when she met the girl's eye. "You play with your bird," she said. "And I will keep you company."

Sybil nudged Pico onto her shoulder, where he chirped merrily. She rose, approaching the vampire. "Thank you, 'Sandra."

The slender eyebrows rose. "Sandra? That is new."

Sybil blushed. "I'm sorry, I just can't seem to remember your name." She giggled then. "Imagine, even with _my _gift!"

Alessandra was laughing, too. "No, it is—how do you say?—very _cute. _I like it." She gazed about the room, her mouth puckering. "Mm… this is not place for a little girl, but we do our best, _no?_ For now, I can give you no more than what you have."

Sybil nodded. "Pico will keep me company."

"As will I. Remember?" Alessandra flashed another exquisite smile, then glided around the room. Her tapered fingers examined random areas, as if inspecting them.

"Sandra…"

"_Si?" _

"Why do you think—I mean, why hasn't—" Her fingers twisted together.

"Why hasn't your father noticed you?" the vampire asked gently.

Sybil's large eyes grew even wider. "You believe me?"

"Oh, heavens, yes. I see him—we _all _see him. When you hold my hand like so, and your eyes fall like little petals in spring." Her hand cupped the girl's smooth cheek. "When he is in your words, your face… your pretty, pretty smile."

Tears glistened in Sybil's eyes. "Am I _that _like him?"

"Did your mother not agree?"

"She told me stories sometimes, but nothing else." The joy in Sybil's face crumpled. "Oh, no… is that why? Do I remind him of my mother?"

The crimson eyes watched her carefully. "I don't know, child. I could not say. Oh! I have something else I bring for you."

It was the right thing to say. Sybil's eyes lit up at the sight of the three novels: _Emily Windsnap, A Girl of the Limberlost, _and _Dracula. _

"I said you would die of boredom, locked up here, and he said to give you these."

Sybil looked up from the books. _"Who _said?"

"No one, _niño. _These satisfy you, yes? The third seems a little dark, though I've not read it. More for adults. Would you like just the other two?"

Sybil smiled, though a trifle annoyed at the blocked question. "Thanks, Sandra, but I read _Dracula _last year. My mother didn't mind me reading the darker stuff… as long as it was on the _classic _side." She reached to hug the vampire warmly, then quickly halted. "I'm… very grateful, Sandra. Thank you."

"It is all my pleasure, pretty one. And do not mind touching me. I have stronger blood than the rest. I do not fear you."

Sybil's mouth fell open. "They—they _fear _me?"

Alessandra sighed heavily at the slip. "Forget I said it. Weak minds breed weak thoughts; they do not all understand as I do."

Sybil flicked through the beginning chapters of _Dracula. _She wanted to please Alessandra, who was, after all, being extraordinarily kind, but her mind was troubled. She remembered the enmity she'd felt in Demetri and Felix, and the stark resentment of the former. Was she such a liability? How could she, a mere thirteen-year-old girl, have caused so much stir in only seventy-two hours? Days were nothing to immortals, or at least that's what her mother always told her.

"They live forever, Sybil," she'd said, rocking the little girl on her lap. "They don't know pain or disease…"

Sybil closed her eyes tight, forgetting Alessandra in the memory. If she tried _really _hard, she could see Marina clearly, trailing long, graceful fingers through her daughter's downy curls. "Wouldn't that be something?" she whispered, and Sybil could see the flash of longing in her eyes. "You would never catch cold, my lovely, nor worry about me leaving you."

"_Are _you leaving, Mommy?"

"Never!" Marina kissed the warm forehead—a little roughly. "Never, ever, _ever. _You mustn't say that, Sybil. You mustn't even _think _it."

Sybil tasted a tear in her mouth. She looked up to see Alessandra watching her. "Are you well, dear?" she asked, her whisper just a breath.

"Yes." The girl turned another page. "I was just thinking… It's still been a whole year since I read this. I'd forgotten the whole story was in journal entries."

Alessandra sat beside her. Pico cooed, brushing a golden wing across the vampire's cheek. "Well, perhaps someday you will be a wonderful writer—write beautiful, wonderful things—and you can change that yourself."

"Oh, Sandra, I'd _never _be that good!"

"How do you know? Read a few chapters for me, will you? To improve my English."

"Your English is lovely," Sybil protested.

"You think I not see the looks you've been giving me? You are right, though. Nine hundred years I live, yet I never think on _expanding_ my words, like our dear Masters. Don't smile, little dove! I will get better! Santiago is above me; you will understand _him, _at least."

Sybil, who had begun to read, halted in fascination. Her mind, still so new to her power, had grasped only as much as her father had their first meeting. There was still so much to _learn. _"What languages do the Masters speak?" she asked eagerly.

"Oh? Everything, I believe. Even the old tongues. But that is common with our kind. Now, you were going to read?"

Sybil sighed, settling herself down amongst the Carpathians, where the wolves were more frightful than life, and strange, brutal men thundered down mountain pathways on the evilest night of the year… It was a beautiful story, really, however dark. She had always thought so, despite her mother's teasing. It had all the qualities of a really good drama tale, including the mad Renfield for a sharper edge. There was a great deal of romance, as well, even betwixt the Count and his wives, who seemed to desperately need a story of their own.

_Perhaps I will rewrite it, after all, _she thought, absently stroking Pico. _Everyone needs a story. _

It was a good hour and half later when Alessandra suddenly rose, glancing with a sharp look at the wall. "I go now," she said softly. "Goodbye, my dear. I will see you soon." Sybil murmured something clumsily in Spanish, and she laughed. "My English and _your _Spanish!" she chuckled. "It can go either way, but we teach each other, _no?" _

She left with a parting kiss, obviously no longer unnerved by the thought of touching the girl. The wall closed as inexplicably as before, and Sybil sank down in her corner, clutching a ruffled Pico to her breast. Stoker's tragic tale lay beside her, forgotten for now.

At least _someone _didn't think she was a freak!


	7. Chapter 7

"_**It seems so beautiful **_

_**So strange, yet beautiful…"**_

_**(Andrew Lloyd Webber; "Love Never Dies")**_

Being on friendly terms with one of the coven's vampires didn't mean Sybil trusted her. The child was not stupid. Young she may be, but she wasn't blind. This was not America, nor was it a chaotic orphan's home. It was unlike any place she'd ever lived. She was treading dangerous ground, and she knew it.

But did she care? No. She wanted her father.

"It's been just Mom and I for so long," she confided to Alessandra a day later. "I already missed him then. What am I supposed to do, now that she's gone?"

The Spanish beauty smiled. "Your grief is understandable," she said softly. "But I would caution you, my dear. You have—how do you say?—quite befuddled the Masters. Your father, most of all."

Sybil sighed. "At least you believe me."

"It's not a question anymore of believing. The entire coven can see it." Alessandra halted, opening a large door for her. "The _true _question is, where do you go from here?"

Sybil felt irritated. Not exactly at Alessandra, who was only trying to help, but because she'd posed that same question to herself many times since coming here, and received no answer.

"I'm hungry," she said, her voice a tad petulant.

Alessandra smiled, gliding beside her. "I know, _mi pequeño. _I hear your stomach singing."

Sybil flushed. She hurried to a trot, falling behind. "Do… do the Volturi have human food here?"

"_Ciertamente! _All will be prepared for you. Many dishes, all very delicious."

They were making fair progress (to what Sybil assumed was a kitchen), when her companion came to a sudden halt. An absent expression settled in her eyes, which gazed ahead of them eagerly. Sybil followed her gaze, but saw nothing.

"What?" she asked impatiently.

Alessandra looked down, her voice sweeter than usual. "You will wait, please. No, no. Not here." She opened a door to their left, escorting the bewildered girl into some kind of parlor.

"But… but…"

"Wait," the vampire asked. "I will return."

And she was gone. Only the faint scent of her perfume remained. It mixed unpleasantly with the room's dust, causing Sybil to sneeze.

"_Now _what do I do?" she demanded.

The room had lovely furniture—the very finest—but little else. There was a piano near the depressingly cold fireplace, but it was locked. Sybil did not play an instrument, but she would have tinkered with it, had she been able, just to pass the time.

Hours passed, or so it felt. She knew Alessandra wouldn't leave her for so long, but her patience was swiftly trickling away.

Her stomach grumbled, craving attention. She had waited long enough.

Sybil walked outside, the still, dark air stealing her breath for a moment. Had the temperature dropped since she'd entered? She squared her little shoulders, continuing down the hallway. Maybe she could find the kitchen for herself. Maybe there would be some crackers; fruit, or something, that she could nibble on while waiting.

Easier said than done. Door after door she opened, finding nothing but stranger, more lavishly-decorated rooms. Some had beds. Others contained long tables or cabinets, covered in fine layers of dust and reeking of age. She even found a grand old library, covered from top to ceiling in treasures. The latter was considered as a very tempting time waster, but she thought she heard someone moving around the shelves, and quickly returned.

No kitchens. No dining rooms.

"This is silly," she mumbled. After a while, she _prayed _to run into someone, whether vampire or human. She was not easily frightened, merely hungry. And nothing puts a young child in a bad temper so much as being hungry.

"Is anyone _there?" _she called out, exasperated.

Silence. Not even a mouse to talk to. Nothing.

Sybil hated crying, but she felt tears welling in her eyes. Her feet hurt. She numbly pushed open a last door, telling herself she didn't care _whose _room it was. She was cold, and needed rest.

The door creaked a little as it opened. Sybil took a breath. Warm air washed over her body, lighting her face with a smile. There was a fire!

She hurried into the elegant interior, holding out her hands instinctively to the grate. The fire reached out for her kindly, though careful not to touch her little fingers. She sank down on the carpet after several minutes, feeling pleasantly lulled. As her head lifted, another quiet breath escaped her lips.

It was so…

Beautiful.

_Like an old movie, _she thought, giggling suddenly. _The princess lived in a castle, in her own little room, with her own books and dreams… _

She wandered about, humming. Now that she'd rid herself of at least one discomfort, her good humor rose slightly. Alessandra would have to come looking for her. She would find her, too. Of that, Sybil was certain. But for now, she was staying, warm and dreamy near the fire. Her own chamber, cold and damp, had no fire.

Of course, once someone had committed _one _intrusion, they are far more likely to commit another. Sybil was bored, and curious. She began to search through the room. Her fingers stroked armchairs that did not belong to her, and she turned over papers that she did not understand. It was all part of the game of amusing herself, 'til help arrived.

"Hm, hm, hm…"

Humming, she stopped in front of a grand bureau/armoire, taking up a good portion of the room. It turned out to be two furniture pieces. They stood nearly a hair's breadth apart, as if silently fighting to see who could be more imposing.

Sybil's small fingers curled about the handle to the armoire. She rattled it, but it didn't yield. Undaunted, she moved to her right, tugging on the lowest drawer of the bureau.

Again, nothing.

"Well, that's annoying," she said cheerfully.

Up she went, pulling on the handles. Only when she reached the fifth—and final—drawer did she have success. It slid open easily, amidst her giggles.

Treasures!

That was her first thought. The things in the drawer were alluring as jewels; scattered here, and neatly aligned there. Her eyes roved over them hungrily, though she didn't know what they were.

Then she saw it.

Sybil lifted her hand, pushed her thin locks out of her face. Was she seeing what she thought she saw?

Gently, she reached into the drawer, drawing out a small, monogrammed case. Its edges were sharp and silvery. They nicked the tips of her fingers as she turned it around, reading the inscription fully.

"_A mio angelo prezioso, Aro, che detiene questo cuore." _

Sybil held it in her hands gently. She did not understand the words, but there were a few that stood out to her. _"Angelo." _Angel. _"Mio." _My.

_Aro. _

My angel, Aro.

My father.

Little bursts of light filled her, tickling inside with delicious warmth. This room, these objects, were _his. His _pictures. _His _memories.

She pressed her rosy lips to the name. Who had written it, who had given it to him… she didn't know. She didn't care. It was her father's precious possession, and she was holding it in her hands...

Sybil laid the case on top of the bureau. She wondered at the messy state of the drawer's left half. There was only one plausible explanation.

Someone had been looking through these, and recently. Light filled her again, just imagining she was touching something her father had touched.

As she sifted through the precious objects, a soft reverence took possession of the girl. She wished for another gift; a gift that allowed her to draw memories from objects, as well as people. What a beautiful thing, she thought with joy. As beautiful as the room was. And it would all be hers. Her father and all his treasures. Had he ever had a similar longing, she wondered? Was he burdened by his gift, as she sometimes felt herself to be?

Time flew by. She felt guilty at one point, yes, but pushed the feeling away quickly. He couldn't be mad at her for touching. Why would he? If he hadn't ignored her the past few days, she wouldn't have to search these things out for herself.

"Not _my _fault," she reasoned.

Her fingers closed about another interesting object, equally hard and shiny. It was a miniature of a girl.

_Like the portraits they would draw for kings and queens, _Sybil thought. The eyes were just a smudge of blue paint, but they captured the expression of sweetness perfectly. Tendrils of gold framed the tiny face. The slender arms were also blue, as if she were dressed in colors of the sky.

The doll-like features smiled up at Sybil, and she placed it tenderly back in the drawer. There was no signature on the back, nor front.

"Hmm… what else?" She continued to sift through her father's belongings, glancing furtively over her shoulder now and then. Other than a few odd instruments, and another stack of papers in foreign languages, there was nothing else.

Sybil shut the drawer. Her eyes darted around the room restlessly, falling on an antique bookcase. She walked closer. It was a fine, old thing, with its delicately-fashioned glass door and plated gold on the edges. She opened the door, her reflection flashing, and gasped.

Such beautiful books! Never had she seen such books! And _he _loved them, too!

A stack soon formed in her little hands, as she greedily assimilated her father's collection. She was lost in excitement. A cushioned window seat on the far side of the room looked inviting. Thither she went, snuggling into the satin pillows, her stack of treasures close beside her.

Dostoevsky?

She shook her head. Maybe in a year or so.

Dumas?

A happy grin. She placed in on her lap.

Anne Sexton?

Sybil opened the thin volume, reading curiously. Halfway through a poem, she paused, her little face paling. She set it aside hurriedly. None of that morbid stuff for her, thank you! Her interests in the weird didn't span much further than "Dracula," to be honest.

Most of the books were to her liking, however, and she was soon lost in another century, battling alongside the Musketeers with a fierce look of concentration on her face. She'd always been an avid lover of the classics; "the old stories," as her mother had called them.

"Just like your father," Marina would mutter, each time she saw Sybil curled up on the couch, another dusty volume in her hands. But she didn't really mind. She even grew to love the classics a little, through her daughter's avid expressions. They would read aloud to each other, laughing themselves silly over the droller tales.

Sybil paused in the middle of a paragraph, her face thoughtful. What was the last book they had read together? "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…"

She whispered the words quietly, somberly. Mom had cried at the ending. When Sidney Carton gave his life up to the guillotine, all to preserve the lives of his friends.

Sybil brushed her dark hair from her face. Time to go back to the Musketeers. _Their _problems seemed positively mountainous, compared to the ones she had. She laughed softly at one of D'Artagnan's exploits, turning the page.

"What are you doing?"

Sybil jumped, losing her place. She cast her eyes furtively at the open door. A figure appeared after several seconds, nearly invisible by the shadows.

"I asked, what are you doing?!"

The voice was strained. Sybil squinted, her eyes deciphering a bloodless, horror-struck face.

"You should not be here," the creature whispered.

Sybil stared at her curiously. "Who are you?"

The woman moved across the room—in one step, it seemed—removing all of the books from the window seat. Before Sybil could react, she was at the shelves, setting each in its rightful place tenderly.

The girl shook her head, irritated. "Excuse me!"

The female vampire whirled around. "You should not be here."

"You said that already," Sybil retorted. "I was not harming anything."

"You might have."

Sybil leapt to her feet, not easily gainsaid. "I was _not, _and you know it!"

Renata stared at her. The little girl's eyes flashed angrily, with a faint air of petulance. She felt sick, all of a sudden. "Oh. You… you are that girl."

Sybil stepped in front of her, reaching out her hand. "Please let me finish reading. I wouldn't hurt his things for the world."

Renata shook her head, still gaping. They were standing very close now. On impulse, Sybil reached out, brushing her fingers against the vampire's cold cheek. The latter flinched, jumping back like a frightened bird.

Sybil stared. "Renata?"

The little vampire's eyes widened. She took another step back.

Sybil edged closer, fascinated. She had seen her father's face. _Oh, my gosh! His guard!_ _Daddy has a _guard?

"Oh," she breathed. "And you have such a pretty name!"

Renata exhaled sharply. _"Dio,_ you're even worse. Worse than the _twins." _

Sybil flushed, her cheeks a faint pink. "I-I'm sorry about that… I don't mean it."

Renata glowered. "How do _I_ know that?"

"Because I just told you."

"You could be lying."

Sybil narrowed her dark eyes. "Well, _I _don't lie! Just like I don't screw up other people's things on purpose!"

The young guard frowned. "Why are you wandering about alone? Is someone not with you?"

Nosy little thing! "I'm hungry," Sybil said impatiently. "I was just trying to find something to eat."

"So you wandered into my master's cabinet and began sorting through his things?" Renata's voice hushed on the last word, as if they were holy relics.

Now the little girl was frowning, too. "I said I was sorry."

Renata's lips quavered. "I really must insist that you leave."

"I don't want to."

"I must insist that you leave _now." _

Her tiny fist gripped under Sybil's elbow, steering her inexorably towards the door. Renata locked it carefully, the key seeming to disappear under Sybil's gaze.

"You're so _annoying!" _Sybil exclaimed, jerking her arm away.

"So are you." Renata glanced at her cursorily. She did not like the resemblance she found in the child's angry face.

"Sybil!"

They both turned to see Alessandra gliding swiftly down the hallway. Her dark skirt rippled around her ankles, and her chocolate curls were mussed. She swooped down on Sybil, catching one of the girl's hands in her own.

"Why did you run away?" she exclaimed, concerned. "I look _everywhere_ for you! Come. Your meal is quite ready."

Sybil followed her, glancing back once at an empty hallway. She did not know the ancients had guards. Surely immortality was protection enough? That's what her mother had told her, anyway. Maybe she had simply misread Renata's thoughts. Maybe _companion_ was a better word…

"We leave her alone." Alessandra's sweet contralto came to her.

"Why?"

Amber orbs gazed downward. "It's what's best, darling."

Sybil questioned no further. She had reached a block in Alessandra's thoughts, unable to see past or beneath it. The vampire knew her talent. Why else would she have taken her hand so willingly? She would only offer what thoughts _she _chose, when she chose.

Sybil's brows crinkled in puzzlement. Apparently her gift wasn't so invincible after all. She also felt curious. Could she learn to block, as well? Could Alessandra teach her?

A wonderful smell assaulted her nostrils, and she soon forgot all about it in satisfying her stomach. Alessandra motioned her carefully to a polished table. Her lithe form flew to the cabinets, arranging dishes and cutlery with swift, efficient movements. Sybil noticed that most of the dishes were already made, but there was no one else in sight.

"You like Italian cuisine, yes?"

Sybil gazed in delight at the multi-colored dish, giving her expression in answer. The pasta didn't last long, nor did the fresh melon slices or spiced minestrone. For drink, she was given two choices: clear, spring water, or juice pressed from sweet Italian grapes. Sybil chose both, sighing happily as her stomach stretched to accommodate its nourishing load.

Alessandra watched as she got up from the table, smiling. "You liked it?"

"It was delicious."

"Our servants," she waved a pale hand towards the cabinets. "They do their work well."

Sybil beamed over at the young lady clearing her dishes. "Hey, there! _Bon giorno!" _

The girl darted away shyly. Alessandra giggled madly into her hand. "Your Italian is _charming, novio. _Your father must hear."

"He will." Sybil licked melon juice off her fingers. Her confidence was soaring… or maybe it was just the fructose sugar bubbling in her veins. "I am going to go see him."

Alessandra looked at her thoughtfully. "You are?"

"Yes. Right now, if I can."

"Right now?"

Sybil laughed. "Yes!" She reached over, tugging her friend's hand until she stood up. "Come with me. Please, Sandra?"

The vampire smiled softly at her nickname. "Child, there are other things we might be doing, to pass the time. Safer things."

Sybil's face fell. "You think it's a bad idea?"  
"It might not be. It might be a wonderful idea, in fact. But not now."

Alessandra gazed absently for a moment. She was remembering the incident in the throne room, not three days ago. When Caius had reached out, inadvertently striking the child's head against his chest, and the room had breathed with the scent of bodies.

She had seen her lord's face. His lips had paled, tightening in some silent effort, before he'd moved forward silently, pulling Sybil from his brother's grasp. For a split second, the world might have revolved around Sybil, and Sybil only.

Alessandra knew. She was not blind. She smiled down at the child, affection welling in her heart, and squeezed her hand. _Patience, love. He is waiting. He is waiting for you, and he doesn't know it. _

They left the kitchen together, arm in arm.

"We will have fun, you'll see," Alessandra promised. "I will find some games, and we will get a better room for you. You'll see."


	8. Chapter 8

_**I don't want to confuse anyone, so just to clarify: this is a chapter for Aro, as we are drawn into his memories fifteen years back. ITALICS ARE HIS THOUGHTS, coming back to him now and again as he tries to cope with the stress of the situation. They are not really happening in the scene. :) **_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

"_**I thought I saw images in the dust…"**_

_**(Anne Rice; "The Road to Cana")**_

"_Come and see me," she whispered. _

Aro stalked down the dreary hallways, clenching and unclenching his fists in quick succession. The burly guard, Felix, swept noiselessly from his path, looking after his master in alarm. Heidi appeared beside him, mouthing questions, but he shooed her away.

"What is wrong?" she hissed.

"I don't know."

She paused. "Did he say anything?"

"I don't know!"

The ensuing bickering was lost on the Volturi leader, who was already quite a ways away from the pair of them. Thoughts bounced about mercilessly in his skull, mingling with others in a desperate attempt to make _some_ sense of themselves.

"I do not have time for this. I do _not _have time for this!"

He snarled out in frustration, quickening his already frantic pace. Where _was _that woman?!

"_Come and see me." _

_She giggled, blushing enchantingly. Her bare feet tripped lightly up the stairs, giving him a delicious glimpse of ankle every time her black skirt swished. Her pins had fallen loose from her hair, giving her the look of a young, fresh girl. _

"_I love you," he whispered. _

_She laughed, her curls dancing. "Come…" _

Aro rounded the corner, almost running now. His frustration was palpable; the anger that he felt coming dangerously close to rage.

A female vampire stood not fifty yards away, examining a life-size painting of Tsar Nicholas. It was a treasure, like all the others in the Volturi's _fortezza, _snatched unobtrusively from the mortal world. She no doubt heard her master coming, but did not turn her head until he stood beside her.

"Alessandra," he snapped.

Amber orbs met his, flecked with absentmindedness. "Ah! My lord…" She curtsied, clasping the edges of her satin skirt in a graceful, practiced movement. "You do me honor."

"I gave you charge of the child," Aro interrupted. His voice was like steel, cold and hard. "And my instructions were _very_ specific, as I recall."

Alessandra smiled, unperturbed. "I have never failed my lord."

"You have, thus far. You have given me _no _information of any kind. You let the child run wild, not two days ago, when she could have easily been injured or fallen into company with one of the guard." His eyes darkened unpleasantly. "Which, according to Renata, she _did." _

"Forgive my ineptitude, my lord. Sybil confessed to me what she did. It will not happen again."

Aro only half-listened to the apology, his mind bouncing spasmodically back to his major concern. He gestured impatiently with a long, slender hand. "Come, come…"

Alessandra placed her hand in his, still smiling calmly. It was not an unpleasant expression, like her master's, but rather one of suppressed sympathy and concern. The concern was for Sybil; the sympathy was for her master. Living and serving the Volturi for as long as she had, it was only natural that she should find ways to cope with the brothers' erratic moods and behaviors. One way was simply _not _to react. Don't let the tiniest things offend. She had brought a natural compassion and courage with her from her mortal life, and it had often done her a service.

Aro glanced up at her. His expression was frustrated and stressed… but not as angry as before. "Where is she?" he asked wearily.

"In the room you provided for her."

Aro did not miss the faint intonation on the word _room. _"No doubt you think 'dungeon' would be a more appropriate term?"

"It _is _rather cold for a child, my lord—"

"Then find her another one, by all means. Or better yet, let her room with you and Santiago." Aro looked at her closely. "Can he be trusted with her?"

Alessandra smiled. "They are good friends, my lord."

The ancient's brow furrowed. "Already?" He took Alessandra's hand again, bewildered. His eyes widened at the image she projected: a beaming Sybil perched on Santiago's lap, the burly vampire tugging playfully on her earlobe, making her laugh.

Aro let go. "Perfect," he said flatly.

Alessandra waited politely for a few moments, letting him gather his thoughts. She had no talent of her own, but she had spent enough time around others who had to understand the difficulties involved. Aro's was no exception. To hear a thought—every thought? Hours and days and years of thoughts, all jumbled together in an inexplicable puzzle, and then suddenly consumed through a simple touch, to be absorbed all at once?

The idea gave her a headache. She glanced discreetly at her master, at his creased forehead, and wondered if the powerful gift ever gave _him _a headache, too.

Aro could feel her eyes upon him, but he did little about it in the awkward silence. His own thoughts were growing more and more difficult to ignore…

_The apartment had the typical, shabby look of an American student. Books lying in perilous, uneven stacks, mixed in with innocuous objects like cigarette butts and _Lorina _bottle caps. The bed was a charming piece of furniture, pulled down out of the wall… along with any dust that had gathered overnight. A homely lamp perched on the bureau, along with a vase of geraniums, but naught much else. The flowers were the brightest thing in the room, in fact. And perhaps the cleanest. But Marina's income was only so much, and her spending habits were anything but wise. _

_She tossed her dress on the bed—a pretty, black number—and turned to face him, smiling. He loved the way her slender arms curled all the way around his neck, yet she was still able to rest her forehead against his. _

_Sulpicia was not able to do this. She had not been blessed with great height._

"_Well," Marina said softly. That was all, yet more than enough. "Well…" _

_His lips moved, embracing the warm, berry-like essence of her mouth. He might have groaned a little, but was too proud to acknowledge the sound. _

"_Marina…" _

_His body shifted. Next thing he knew, she was half-crushed against the wall, his fingers curling roughly about her wrists, pressing them against the hard surface. But Marina was still laughing, unhurt and aroused._

"_Stop it," he snarled. He had to concentrate very hard then, so as not to truly crush her, nor snap the lovely, brittle bones that were as fragile as a bird's wing— _

"My lord?"

The ancient's head snapped up, his face looking stricken for a moment. He saw Alessandra, her hand no longer touching his, and sighed in relief. She was not his strange fairy child. His thoughts were safe.

"What is it, my dear?" he sighed.

She smiled at the endearment and continued, hoping to benefit by this slight sign of good humor. "About Sybil, my lord…"

His expression immediately darkened.

"It is important."

Aro sucked on the insides of his cheek slightly. "Yes?"

"I was wondering… you are going to visit the child soon, yes?"

"What gives you that idea?" he said coldly.

Alessandra feigned surprise. "She seems to expect it. And it would help, I think, if I stopped giving her false promises, and you came and saw her."

"Those promises were not yours to give. I will speak with the child when I deem it necessary, and not before."

The Spanish vampire pursed her lips. She could not understand his stubbornness, and against all better judgment, she said so. "Just what is it you have against Sybil?" she demanded. "What? Has she offended you in some way?"

Aro stared at her in amazement. Her accent had thickened, as it always did when she was speaking passionately about something. It was that very passion that shocked him, more than the disrespect.

"This child…" he began slowly.

"Ah, yes!_ 'This_ child'!" Her dark eyes flashed angrily. "Is it so difficult, my lord, to call her by name? This same child, who wants you and… and _needs_ you, with her _corazón _bleeding for affection from you, yet none is received! She _needs _you!"

Alessandra touched her breast, and Aro saw a new emotion come into her face; a raw, aching need for something that her own body could not give her. "I speak for her," she said, faltering back to her native Spanish. "I speak for her, as no one else will. I love the little one."

Aro watched her head bow slightly, both hands now clasped on her breast. He drew in an unnecessary breath, exhaling with a sigh. "Alessandra…" She belonged to a group of wiser, more sophisticated Guard in the _fortezza, _who had lived with the original members for four hundred years or more. This included Demetri, Renata, the 'witch twins', Corin and Afton, and of course her own mate, Santiago. She was beyond loyal, and devoted to her masters. That, and her irresistible sweetness, greatly contributed to her ability to get away with saying certain things. And she was never wrong.

Aro pressed his forefingers to his temples, rubbing them wearily. He felt so old… so tired. Counseling session had been particularly brutal that morning. His head was pounding. _Why, Marina? Why did you leave me this child? _

No… Sybil. Her name was Sybil.

He stepped forward, laying a gentle hand on Alessandra's shoulder. "Forgive me, dear one. I am not myself today."

It was now Alessandra's turn to be astonished. "You are not angry with me?"

"I am, actually, but not so much that I wish to do anything about it." He chuckled, the lines in his face relaxing.

"Oh, my lord. I know this is difficult for you, but… but what I said about Sybil…" She looked up at him. "I meant every word of it."

"I know you did, _cara mia. _You have never lied to me."

His hand slid off her shoulder, falling by his side. Alessandra reached for it impulsively, her old cheerfulness coming back into her face. "Please, my lord. Promise me you will see her?"

"I cannot…"

"Please," she implored. "I have failed to bring information, I know, but Sybil is not a sponge." She smiled faintly. "She has her own darkness in her, and her own fears. She cannot be squeezed of all she knows, nor give something without having something given to _her_ in return. Talk to her. She will tell you about her mother, I am sure."

Aro closed his eyes briefly. He did not understand his own reluctance in seeing Sybil. Alessandra's words had hit him rather hard. _Was _it so difficult to call her by name, to acknowledge her? And what of his own mate, Sulpicia? That was an issue he had not even _considered _yet.

"I will go," he whispered, after a long moment.

Alessandra lifted her master's hand, pressing her cold lips gratefully to his fingers. _"Gracias, _my lord."

He closed his eyes again, walking slowly past her down the hall. This time, he did not even try to block the memories. What was the use?

"_Marina…" _

She was still laughing.

* * *

_**Yes, I know it is short. But it is suitable to the chapter, and what is to come next. More updates on this, and other stories, coming soon! :) **_

_**In the meantime... review!**_


	9. Chapter 9

"_**From childhood's hour I have not been. As others were, I have not seen. **_

_**As others saw, I could not awaken."**_

_**(Edgar Allan Poe)**_

"Stop it! Pico, get _down! _Pico-!"

Sybil glowered up at the tiny bird, perched in blissful solitude among the rafters of Alessandra's chambers. Technically, it was only a side partition of her chambers, which were in fact two doors away, shared with Santiago. Friendly as the two vampires were to Sybil, they had no intention of sharing their bedchamber with a young girl. But the small, yet elegant room had been unused for decades, so Alessandra cleared any old furniture and tapestries out of it, and Sybil settled in. There was a fireplace to warm her, and although no electric lighting was installed, plenty of candles had been supplied for her in the drawer of her vanity.

It was a beautiful room, but Pico's fascination with the ancient wood beams was driving Sybil crazy. Not to mention her fear of him marring the carpet from high above…

She looked up at him, sighing. The bird chattered noisily in his musical voice, bouncing from beam to beam like a dancing puppet.

"Pico…" She turned to pleading now. "Come, please?" She rattled his little silver cage. "Oo, look! Look! Yummy _bird_ _seed!"_

Pico cocked his head, watching his mistress curiously. She lifted several kernels, hovering them near her mouth, as if planning to eat them. He chirped in dismay, sailing down quickly to perch on her fingers. She giggled as he swallowed each little kernel, and then hopped into his cage, spreading a protective wing around the rest, in case she got any more silly ideas.

"It's alright," she murmured, cooing through the bars. Pico ruffled his feathers, shaking off a stray kernel. Sybil looked into his small, oddly empathetic eyes, and a sudden fit of loneliness seized her. The bird did not object when she reached into the cage, stroking his golden head with one finger. "It's alright." Then, impulsively, "You darling, _darling _thing!"

Pico sang happily, enjoying the attention. Sybil closed the door to his cage carefully, then sat back down in her little chair, opening _The Three Musketeers _again. D'Artagnan seemed to be falling for trouble again—or maybe falling for the infamous Milady de Winter was more accurate. Sybil giggled to herself, turning a fragile page.

Someone knocked. Very softly. Sybil would have missed the sound, had she not been sitting so quietly. It did not come from the heavy doors of the entrance, however, but from the side door near her bed, which connected with Alessandra's chambers. She had put down her book, skipping lightly over to it, when it opened of its own accord.

"Alessandra? What is it?"

The vampire gestured frantically. "Sit down, _novio! Per favore!" _

Sybil stared. "Um…"

Alessandra grasped her shoulders—gently—and steered her back to her chair by Pico. Her dark eyes were sparkling with excitement, but her mouth was tense. She fussed over Sybil's hair and clothing, clucking her tongue repeatedly like a mother hen.

Sybil was completely bewildered. "Sandra? What has happe—"

There was another knock, only this time, it did indeed come from the main entrance. Alessandra sat up straight quickly, her eyes fixed on the door for a moment. She bent, planting a butterfly kiss on Sybil's cheek. "Good luck, my little one! Don't answer the door. Just say 'come in.'"

Sybil tried yet again to speak, but her friend had already left, the side door clicking softly behind her. The little girl turned her gaze back to the other door, feeling somewhat frightened. She twisted her favorite ring nervously about her finger. "Um… come in?"

There was a brief pause. Then the door opened, and her father entered.

_**Aro **_

He could hear the flurry of activity, even before he approached the door. He felt slightly annoyed by Alessandra's fussing; what was she trying to do? _Prepare _the child? He did not want prim speeches or fabricated lies. He wanted the truth, and no one told the truth more purely than a child… provided they were not influenced first.

_For God's sake, Alessandra. Leave her alone! _He reached the door, knocking gently with two knuckles. The activity within immediately ceased, though he could still hear the child's pounding heart, and the quick, nervous sounds of her breathing. To his relief, the Spanish vampire disappeared. He waited, though he did not know why. He had never waited for a child before.

"Um… come in?"

Her small voice reached his ears easily. The Volturi leader looked down at himself for an moment, as if ensuring he was properly dressed, or had not disregarded a bloodstain from his latest meal. He rolled his eyes in impatience. _Get ahold of yourself, old man. _

He opened the door. She was sitting quite still in the center of the room, one ankle crossed over the other. Her hair had been unkempt the last time he'd seen her, hanging all over her round face in stray curls. But Alessandra had obviously worked her magic, pulling it back into a short braid. She had also outfitted the child in a decent dress and shoes. Aro wished, rather suddenly, that she had not chosen black. The child—Sybil—had practically glowed with color upon her arrival, with her daisy skirt, frilly blouse, and glitter fingernails. The dress she wore now looked fit for mourning. It also brought into unpleasant clarity how very thin she was. Who on earth had been feeding her the past few months?

Sybil watched him nervously, and the ancient realized he had been standing there silently for some time. His lips parted unwillingly. "Good morning… Sybil."

"Good morning… Master."

Aro looked suspiciously at her. There was a little sparkle in her eyes. Good Lord. She'd inherited his sense of humor. He glanced about the room uneasily, then back at her. "You are comfortable here, yes?"

"Sure am!"

He raised an eyebrow. He couldn't understand why she was so giddy, all of a sudden. "I see. And you've met Santiago, I've heard."

"Yes. Aunt Sandra didn't want me to, at first, but everything turned out wonderfully."

_Aunt Sandra? _"Why didn't she want you to meet him?"

"Oh… something about me being scared. He's a pretty big guy, you know. Even bigger than _Felix." _She nodded seriously at her father. "And that's saying a _lot!" _

Aro paused for a moment. He could have sworn he'd heard a chuckle in the next room. "I see," he repeated. _You're doing wonderfully, old man. Shall we attempt an actual conversation? _

Sybil began first. She swung her legs slightly, more relaxed. "So, Master… it _is _'Master,' right?"

Aro rubbed his forehead. "Ah… yes. But not for you, I'm afraid."

"Oh." Her brows furrowed, puzzled. "What, then?"

"How about just 'Aro'?"

Sybil shook her head vigorously, her expression indignant. Aro fought back a smile, sighing. "Why? What is the matter now?"

"Would _you _call _your _daddy by his first name?" she demanded.

He cringed mentally. _Oh, no. Please not "Daddy." _"I hardly remember my father," he said slowly. "But I see your point, Sybil." Another pause. "'Papa?""

He halted, dismayed at his carelessness. Where on earth had _that _word come from? Had it slipped from some hidden part of his consciousness; something he had always wanted to call _his _father? He continued to gaze at Sybil, praying her reaction wouldn't ridicule him. But she looked up slowly, from where she'd been staring at the carpet with a small pout. "'Papa?'"  
"Yes. Is that suitable for you?"  
She thought for a moment. Then she giggled suddenly, inexplicably. "'Papa?' Isn't that, well, kind of old-fashioned?"

"For your culture, yes. But it is also what an Italian child would call his or her father."

"So I would call my mom 'Mama?'"

"Yes." He lost no time in taking advantage of the opportunity, leaning forward slightly. "Sybil, may I ask you about her? Your mother?"

The girl's fingers squeezed the sides of her chair. "Why?"

"It is important that I know. Especially since you have apparently decided to stay with me."

"Mom always talked about you," she said slowly. "Do you want to know what she said?"  
He nodded, surprised. "Well… yes. If you wish to tell me. But I need more than that. Where you were born, how she educated you, her death…" He glanced at her cautiously, wondering if this was pushing it. After all, he had no idea how much Sybil still grieved for her mother. How tender the wounds were.

But once again, she surprised him. "Okay," she said, nodding cheerfully.

And so began with the questioning. So eager was Aro for this information, in fact, that he sometimes found difficulty in formulating the questions themselves. Either that, or the child's loving little glances in his direction kept confusing him. _Why, _oh why was she so trusting? He hadn't treated her with any particular kindness, leaving that to strangers. Why did she keep looking at him that way? His fingers drummed on the armrest. "You were born in July?"

"Yes."

"What day?"

"The tenth," she chirped, swinging her legs.

Scarcely two months away, he realized. He asked the year, trying not to cringe when she told him. It brought so many memories… most of them bitter.

_He dodged, the metal pan narrowly missing his head. Marina faced him, tall and blushing crimson with fury. God, but she was glorious. If only she was not so angry— _

"_Damn you!" she screamed. _

"_Cara mia, please—"_

_On came another dish, this time a glass one, shattering against the wall behind him. He stepped forward cautiously, wondering how best to calm her… _

Aro rubbed his forehead, the action reminiscent of an artist erasing his work, easing the pain it brought him by simply blotting it out. "Fourteen… you will be fourteen?"  
"That's right."

"You are tall for your age," he noted.

"My mom was tall."

He nodded. Again, that pain; a dull, insistent tugging behind the eyes. He saw Sybil watching him—saw the anxious questions forming on her lips—and quickly interrupted with his own. As they spoke, he realized that by the time the girl turned fourteen in July, it would be _exactly _six years since Marina had passed, thus marking fifteen years from the summer he had first met the woman. He brushed away the mention of any childhood stories, garnering only the facts he needed. His daughter had been born prematurely, it seemed. Two weeks before the set date, a neighbor in Marina's apartment building had heard her cry out, and providentially given her a lift to the hospital, even sitting with her for the long hours afterward, and leaving her phone number with the nurse staff. She had been, as Sybil put it, "one of the best people Mom ever knew."

"But how did your mother live?" Aro asked, after a pause. He was beginning to understand how Marina was shunned by her family. Her conduct in Italy had, reportedly, been wild enough. When she returned, they took the conservative approach, and wanted nothing to do with the abandoned mother.

"Oh, Mom and I lived just fine. Carol—the nice lady I told you about? She helped us."

"But Sybil, surely one person could not afford the rent of two other people." Much less the care of a fragile newborn baby. "Did your mother not have a job?"

"She found one," Sybil responded, ever cheerful. "Carol would watch me during the week, while Mom worked at the department store. Then it was just Mom and me for the weekends."

The little girl smiled sweetly, but Aro thought he saw a slight strain in her features. He worried for her, suddenly. His questions grew increasingly gentle, more carefully-phrased. "You went to school?"

"Yeah. Not preschool, though. We missed each other too much. But I've passed _all _my grades since!" she said proudly.

The ancient's lips tilted. "Very good. Tell me, Sybil—"

"But I don't really _like _school," she went on, fiddling with the little ruby ring. "At least, not the last few years."

"Why not?"

"The other kids don't like me."

Aro smiled indulgently. "I'm sure you're only having trouble making friends. Everyone does."

Her dark brown eyes were sad. "Not everyone is me, Papa."

"Why do you say that?" he asked softly.

"I'm weird," she replied, as if it were an obvious fact. "I… hear things." She glanced at her hands, then back up at him. "You know?"

He was listening raptly now. "Yes, little one. I know." His voice grew softer. "When did you start noticing this? That you heard things?"

"I knew what Mom was thinking," she said simply. "It scared her, at first. Just like it did me. But then we made a game of it."

"A game?"

"We called it The Gypsy Game. We played it ever since I can remember. She would dig up all her old scarves and dresses from the closet; all the pretty dresses she got in Italy, but never wore because she had a uniform for work. They were all covered in sequins and shiny thread and beautiful, sparkly things." Sybil was using her hands as she spoke, gesticulating dreamily. She was like a little, Italian girl herself, Aro thought. "It was so much fun. Mom would pretend to be the poor gypsy girl, who wanted with all her heart to be a famous dancer or artist—Mom was an artist too, did you know? And I would pretend to be the fortuneteller, promising her gold coins, palaces, and princes."

Sybil leaned forward in her chair, cupping her two hands together. "Then she would put a crystal ball in my hands (we just used an old Christmas ornament), and she would whisper, 'What do you see, Sibbie? Tell me what you see.' And I would."

Aro's voice was an echo of her whisper. "You would tell your mother her thoughts?"

"Only when she asked me. She said that I was very special, but nobody else would understand, so I shouldn't tell anybody. She said a person's mind is the most precious thing they have, and I should treat it carefully."

Aro's lips pursed together. "When was the first time she ever mentioned me?"

"I don't remember. She always did."

His fingers stopped drumming on the armrest. "Sybil, why were you sent to the orphanage?"

Her face, already small and white, seemed to grow smaller and whiter. "She died."

"How did she die? I must know, Sybil."

"Well, she…"

Her voice faltered. He sighed, hating himself for destroying the soft, almost magical mood she had created by her stories. But he _had _know. "Please, my daughter. Tell me."

There was a long pause. For a moment, he thought she wasn't going to answer at all. But she did.

"She was shopping. She always went shopping… Friday night, before the weekend. Um, Carol had moved away a year before I started kindergarten. I usually waited for Mom by myself, watching TV. She was really late…"

The mood was completely gone by now. Any happiness had melted from her face, leaving a hollow, frightened shell that made the ancient sit very still in his chair, as if fearful she would collapse, or even worse, begin to cry.

"Yes? You were waiting?"

"10 o'clock," Sybil said faintly. "I, um… I went to use the phone."

"To call her?"

"No. We couldn't afford a cell phone. I called the store." She lapsed into another silence.

"Yes?" he said impatiently. "And then?"

Tears appeared on her lashes. "I can't, Papa," she whispered.

"Yes, you can," he said, softening his tone, though there was an undercurrent of strange desperation. "You can tell me."

She shook her head, holding out her hand to him. He stared at it, first in surprise, then with a silent horror that he could not control. Sybil saw it, and pulled back her hand.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered. And she began to cry.

Aro stiffened, overcome by fear, yet resisting the natural impulse to comfort this little creature. Such an action would only lead him down roads he was not yet ready to follow. Her body shook in the hard, upright chair, and the vampire sat silently, uncertain. Terrified of that uncertainty.

"Alessandra," he called, his voice echoing in his ears unpleasantly.

The Spanish beauty glided in quickly, her dark tresses reeking of lilac. She brushed past her master, heading straight for the sobbing child.

"Shh, shh," she cooed. "Come. None of those, now."

_It was not my fault, _he thought angrily. Alessandra gazed at him, her carnelian orbs curious. He realized, with increased anger, that he had spoken aloud. He rose to his feet, silently, but neither of them noticed him.

"Sybil," Alessandra sang. "Sweet, little _novio, _look at me."

At the sound of her name, Sybil lifted her head. Dark curls stuck to the lovely, young cheekbones, still blessed with the remains of babyhood. Alessandra brushed them away with her fingers, continuing to talk to her in warm, soothing tones.

"I don't understand," sobbed the little girl. Eyes blurred with tears, she thought her father had left the room.

"_Sé que, _precious one. I know. Come now. There is a lovely meal waiting for you in my room, and we can sit and talk. Yes… wipe them _all _away, _mi querido._ You will feel better after you've eaten.

She slipped an arm around Sybil's waist, then glanced up at Aro. His eyes fixed with hers for a brief moment, as if daring to find reproach.

She gave him none. "Come," she repeated, speaking to Sybil. The little girl didn't speak, cuddling tightly against the tall woman, her head bowed. They walked from the room together, Alessandra's voice a soothing hum that soon disappeared behind her chamber doors.

Aro stood alone. The scent of Sybil's tears reproached, even if Alessandra did not. He ran pale fingers through his hair, his eyes closing heavily. The day had tried him. He had not felt so mentally exhausted in decades.

In centuries.

He left the room, his eyes dark with shadows. So much to be learned… so many risks to take. Daughter or not, he hadn't the slightest idea of what to do with the girl.

* * *

_***waves enthusiastically* Hello, loves! Have you missed me? There's a little box down there - I would be much obliged if you wrote something in it, and pressed the little "send" button! It only servers to stimulate my busy brain, and promote more chapters. *beams* Thank you!**_


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